


Possible (20/39?)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [20]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:28:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian wants to go out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (20/39?)

Mickey moved quietly around the bedroom, trying to get dressed without waking Ian. He'd already showered and gulped down a cup of coffee, and had just pulled an extra sweater over his head when he saw Ian's eyes open. 

"Hey." 

"Morning." Ian yawned and pushed himself up a little. "Where you going this early? What time is it?"

"Early." Mickey thought about the locked drawer in Mandy's room, and what he needed to get out of it. "Go back to sleep. You don't need to get up yet."

"Not tired. Where you going?"

"I got some errands to run. You want something to eat before I go?"

"Naw. What errands? Maybe I'll come with you."

Mickey almost dropped his cigarette. "You wanna come with me?"

"Yeah." Ian smiled a little, pushed back the covers, swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Why not? I'm bored."

"Well that's great, you're bored." Mickey was torn between excitement at Ian's newfound energy and frustration that he'd found it right now. "That's a good sign, right? Great. We'll do something later. You wanna sneak into the stadium for the Sox game?"

"Sure, maybe. But where are we going now? Wait for me, I'll get dressed."

"No, man. Don't do that."

Ian dropped the shirt he'd just picked up from the floor. "Don't do what? This yours?"

"The fuck do I care whose it is? I mean, don't bother getting ready now. Just hang tight, I'll be back in a couple hours, we'll go for lunch and check out the Sox."

"You don't want me to come?" Ian stopped pulling the shirt down around his waist and let his hand drop to his sides. "What ... you got a date, Mickey?"

"No I don't gotta date. Jesus, Ian, whaddaya think? It's nine in the morning."

"So why don't you want me to come with you?" Ian lifted his chin a little and stared at Mickey with that stubborn look he used to get sometimes. 

"Cause I got work to do." It came out exasperated, but Mickey was actually pretty thrilled to glimpse the old familiar Ian. He took a step forward to close the distance between them, and changed his tone to coaxing. "Look, I ain't blowin' you off. I wanna hang out with you. I just gotta get this stuff done first, okay?"

"What stuff?"

Mickey glanced around the room and then back, giving in. "I took in a shipment and I gotta go settle some orders. Okay? Satisfied?"

It was hard to read the look Ian gave him. Mickey turned away to stub out his cigarette in an overfilling ashtray.

"Thought you weren't doing that anymore," Ian said slowly. "Isn't the tug shop your business now?"

Mickey gave an impatient snort. "Ah, that thing barely breaks even. With all the hands in my pocket, I'm lucky I get a share."

"So you're doing the other stuff full-time now?"

"No, man." Of all mornings for Ian to finally take an interest in the world around him, it had to be this one? "It's a one-time thing. I just need a chunk'a cash."

Ian seemed to make up his mind. He shrugged and went back to looking for clean socks. "Okay. I'll go along for the walk."

"Yeah -- no you won't, Gallagher."

"Why not? I can help with your collections."

"Whatever, man, you're not coming with me. What's gotten into you? You don't wanna get out of bed for two months and now ya gotta go sell uppers with me?"

Ian walked straight up to Mickey, like he did in the old days when he was angry. "Why don't you want me to come with you, Mickey? We got nothing to hide anymore."

"I'm not trying to hide anything. You think that's what this is about? I don't give a fuck who -- wait till I get back and see if I give a fuck who sees us together. The whole south side knows about us anyway."

For a second Ian almost seemed to smile. "Knows what?"

"Knows we're together. There, is that what you wanted? I said it. I ain't trying to hide that. We can walk into the Alibi holding fucking hands if that's what you want."

"Then why can't I come with you while you make your sales this morning?"

"Because it's not safe for you, what the fuck do you think?" 

"What do you mean, not safe? Who you doing business with -- Terry's buddies?"

"That's not what I mean." The conversation was driving Mickey nuts but he knew he wasn't caving on this. "I'm not planning any shoot-outs or shit like that." He was, though, planning on being armed. Mickey wasn't stupid. "I mean you're not in shape for it. You can still barely walk around the block without getting tired -- "

"Oh, come on Mickey. I'm not a fucking invalid."

"Okay, fine, you can show me how many chin-ups you can do later. You're not coming with me now." That was all there to it. Mickey headed out of the room, speaking over his shoulder. "I don't need to be carrying your six-foot ass if I have to make any sudden get-aways."

"Fuck you, Mickey. You don't need to protect me."

"Well, I'm the one's been looking after you the last few months and I can't do it while I'm workin'." Mickey was already in Mandy's room, rummaging for the dresser key. He glanced up to make sure Ian hadn't followed him, then called out, "'Just relax, get yourself some breakfast, have a beer -- "

"It's nine in the morning."

"-- and wait till I get the fuck back." 

He came back into the living room and looked at Ian, who had trailed out of the bedroom still holding a sock in his hand. "Okay?" Mickey asked, softening his voice again. "Will ya do that for me? Just wait till I get back and we'll do something. Together."

Ian's lips had curled into a tiny smile again. "Okay, hubby. I'll stay home and keep house." He went over and gave Mickey a sarcastic peck on the lips. "Have a good day at work now."

"Fuck you, Gallagher." Mickey showed his middle finger and slammed the front door behind him as loped down the porch steps and off to his first meeting.


End file.
